Cold Reality
by Artichokie
Summary: A scene in the everyday life of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy in their newlywed days.


**Cold Reality  
**_By Artichokie_

I sit and stare blankly at the book pages before me. I don't know what they say for I have yet to read a single word typed upon them. I don't really care what they say; their meaning I care very little for. This entire afternoon was a mere pretense… a pretense that was leading to nothing. At least the couch I am resting on is comfortable, plush in its cushions, but not too soft. It was a place one could easily find themselves taking an afternoon nap. I don't know how many times I've almost fallen asleep this afternoon alone.

The incessant ticking of the grandfather clock standing in the far corner of the room echoes in my head; it's the only thing keeping me awake. Silently I count the ticks, waiting for the three hundredth one to roll around just so I could turn the page. I needed to keep up the pretense; I didn't need his suspicions. Not that he had anything to be suspicious about, not really. I merely wanted to spend a little time with the man. Is that too much to ask?

Oh, I knew it wasn't going to be like the romance novels I secretly read every summer during my Hogwarts years. I wasn't a fool. That kind of marriage didn't exist in these modern times. The marriage between my husband and I is a business arrangement, one made to keep purebloods around in this society. Still, I never thought it'd be like this. I thought there would be some connection, some _friendship_, at the least. But I am receiving none of that.

From the corner of my eye, I observe him. His head is bent over his desk, papers strewn across the surface in some haphazard pattern that only made sense to him. The dull glow from the lamplight spills across the lower half of his face, concealing the dark gray eyes I've grown to know so well. His lips are pressed together and turned in a frown. His business was the only thing he was aware of. My presence in the library meant nothing to him. It didn't even distract him.

I sigh and glance at the clock. I don't know why I even bothered this afternoon. Here I am completely aware of his being, and yet I doubt he even knows I exist at this moment. I could be dangling precariously from the upstairs window, and he wouldn't even jump to my rescue. I mean so little to him.

_But this relationship is new,_ I tell myself, calming my rapidly increasing anger. _You knew it wasn't going to be all sunshine and rainbows at first. It takes time._ I know it does, and I know he's a very difficult man. Growing up, I hadn't seen much of him—our families traveled in the same circles, but we didn't like each other enough to talk. Not even politely. But with age came maturity, and we were able to say those sacred vows in front of both of our families no matter how much neither of us wanted to. Things could be worse—and things could be better.

I snap my book shut, the sound echoing louder than the monotonous ticking of the grandfather clock. Still, he doesn't look up. He sits there, continuing his business as if nothing is wrong. I guess in his world, nothing is wrong. He's content while I am dragging my backside across a bed of metaphorical nails in an attempt to distract myself from the coldness of his attention.

I slowly stand up from the couch and adjust the black skirt of my dress. Tucking stray strands of hair behind my ears, I turn and walk eloquently over to the side of his desk. Still, he doesn't look up. I try to read the paper in front of him, but the scrawl is too unkempt for me to distinguished at such a distance. I'm sure it was written in such a fashion for that exact purpose—to deter anyone from reading it over his shoulder. More private matters I would never hear about. Not right now, at least. In time…

"Lucius?" I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. He seems so intent on his work, his eyes swiftly swiveling down each row of words. But he doesn't move; he doesn't even acknowledge my presence. "Lucius?" I repeated, only louder. Still, he makes no move to indicate that he had heard me.

I bite back a sigh and cross my arms across my chest. I was a patient person; I could wait. My right foot begins tapping, the noise dulled by the thick rug beneath my feet. My heart begins to increase its tempo as each tick from the grandfather clock becomes louder in my head. Patient? Bah, I've never been patient.

I reach down and touch my fingertips to the top of his left hand. He pulls it away quickly, as if he'd been scalded, and hides it beneath the desk in his lap. His eyes snap up to my face, his features a mask of rage. His eyes narrow, throwing silent insults at me. _Who do you think you are?_ his eyes scream at me. I fight the creasing of my own brow and maintain a serene, yet concerned, expression. At least he finally acknowledged me.

"Dinner should be ready shortly." It wouldn't be, not for at least an hour more, but I needed some excuse to speak to him. The silence was becoming too much. Still, the only response I got from him was his cold, blank stare. "Are you going to dine with me tonight?"

I cringe at the meekness present in my voice. It's not who I am; I've never been meek! It's what I know he wants to hear, though. We may not have been married very long, but I've always caught on to things fairly quickly. I don't like it, but I forced myself to accept it out of necessity. He was my future—this life, this house, was my future. If I didn't embrace it now, I never would… and that is a far more scarier thought than I wish to ponder.

Lucius's hand came out of his lap and waved in front of his face. He turned back to the papers laying scattered on his desk, dismissing me without a single word. I nod my head in acknowledgment, my hands grasping the book in front of me tightly. I put all of my frustration into that hold, my pale knuckles turning white against the pressure. _Let it go, Narcissa! Let it go…a_

If only that was so easy.

Biting my tongue, I turn and walk towards the door. My footsteps echo on the hardwood flooring, keeping tempo with the grandfather clock. I reach a hand out to grasp the door handle and turn. Just as I swing the door open, his gruff voice reaches me.

"Don't wait for me," he says, as if it were an afterthought. I turn my head and look at him from over my shoulder. His back is to me; he didn't even bother turning his head in my direction to issue that command. His blonde hair still hangs past his shoulder undisturbed, the strands glistening in the dull lamplight. My lips thin at the inconsiderate action, but I don't say a word. I push a puff of air out of my nostrils as I close the door behind be, but I do not say a single word.

Two could play that game, and two shall.


End file.
